How should we live? someone asked me in a letter. I had meant to ask him the same question. 0 likes - Wisława Szymborska

I knock at the stone's front door. "It's only me, let me come in."<p>"I don't have a door," says the stone.

And only we few who remain unstripped of fur, untorn from bone, unplucked of soaring feathers, esteemed in all our quills, scales, tusks, and horns, and in whatever else that ingenious protein has seen fit to clothe us with, we, my lord, are your dream, which finds you innocent for now.

Here I am, Cassandra.
And this is my city under ashes.
And these are my prophet's staff and ribbons.
And this is my head full of doubts.